


Peace with the Stars

by Thuri



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-01
Updated: 2006-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/pseuds/Thuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wedge faces death once more</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace with the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in the beginning moments of _[The Truce at Bakura](http://www.answers.com/topic/the-truce-at-bakura)_. Written for sadie__g for the wraithsquadron ficathon. Prompt was for "thoughtful." Thanks to kelbebop and blackbird_song for the betas.

He was going to die.

Wedge knew that, hanging there, high above the Endor moon, arm inside an ancient Empire messenger ship, his hand being crushed between the two fist-sized crystals that ran the self-destruct mechanism. His magcon field wouldn’t last forever—hell, wouldn’t even last another ten minutes—and no one could help. Lady Luck was finally running out on him. The Corellian’s unofficial goddess, who’d helped him out of so many scrapes…though he’d never counted on her completely. Always gave her as much help as he could. But apparently not enough. Not this time.

And all right, maybe popping his cockpit and leaping for the ancient ship wasn’t the most brilliant thing he’d ever done, but what else was he supposed to do? He’d had to stop the self-destruct. The ship was in range of too many of their own, too many ships that had been lucky (there was that word again) enough to survive the second Death Star the day before. He’d had to do _something_.

That was it right there, though, wasn’t it? He _always_ had to do something. Wedge Antilles had never sat idly by, letting someone else take the mission, take the risk, if he could help. He considered himself an obvious choice, when the mission was dangerous, when there was a good chance he might not come back. Not because he had a death wish; that was ridiculous. He just had nothing to lose; hadn’t for years, now. And more importantly, no one to lose _him_. No sweetheart at home, no parents praying for his safety. His sister was out there, somewhere, but he hadn’t talked to her in years. So why let another take the risk?

All he’d had was Luke, and the more his former lover learned of the Force, the further apart they grew. Still friends, always that, but Luke no longer came to him in the night, no longer asked for his comfort, his passion. Wedge had never thought they’d last as long as they had—never expected either of them to survive that many missions, in all honesty—but he still mourned what had been. Luke had looked always to the future, to the rebuilding of a Republic, and to the lives of peace they’d live when it happened.

Wedge lived to survive the next battle, and make sure as many of the enemy as possible didn’t.. Ironic, now, that he’d survived one the of biggest battles against the Empire--and with Vader and the Emperor both dead, likely the deciding one—only to end up dying here, the next day, after accidentally setting off a fucking self-destruct mechanism. But then, irony had ruled his life for so long…

Wedge grunted, biting his lip against the growing pain in his hand. Too much to hope that the cold of space would’ve numbed it enough that he could die comfortably. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about losing fingers, not if this was the end.

A frown crossed his face, as he shifted, readjusted his hold as best he could. Why was he so certain this _was_ the end? Certainly he’d gotten out of tighter scrapes than this, closer corners. Hadn’t he? Wedge gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate. To think through the pain—or away from it—memories being preferable to his current situation.

There’d been so many near misses, escapes, through the years. So many times he’d been hit, had to punch out and hope for rescue. At least then he’d known it was coming. Now the chatter on his com seemed distant and far away, like the other ships pulling back from the one he floated next to. And besides, what could anyone do? His flight glove wasn’t enough to keep these crystals from touching, and he had nothing else to wedge between them. A half-smile creased his lips at that thought. No wedge but he himself.

Hell, if he’d had a lightsaber, like Luke’s, he could at least cut off his hand and leave it behind, maybe make his escape that way…not that he thought a prosthetic would be good enough to fly with, but it was still better than dying. And he couldn’t think of any other real solution. But as it was, he had nothing to cauterize the wound if he did take his hand off, and he’d bleed to death too quickly. Such cheerful thoughts, part of him observed. Even if morbidity was to be expected, just now.

Had it been worth it? No one wanted to die in vain, and a soldier least of all. Wedge thought of the enemy he’d gunned down, the Rebel lives he’d saved. And of all the friends he’d lost. Years of fighting behind him, more missions than he could count. Above worlds he’d never dreamed of, as a kid, for ideals he hadn’t known he’d had, when a refueling station had been his whole universe.

Sometimes—and this definitely counted, he decided wryly—he desperately wished he could go back to it. That those smugglers had never destroyed his home. That he could be living there now, taking over the family business, marrying a childhood sweetheart—or playing the field, seducing mels and fems alike. Maybe he’d have children, a home, full of rare bits of furniture and knickknacks from all over. As it was, he hadn’t owned more than he could fit in a single bag since he’d left Gus Tetra the last time. And the only one he’d seduced had left him for the Force.

And yes, he’d done his duty and more, passed up a promotion to stay with the squadron. He’d helped build the Rogues; he wasn’t about to abandon them for a command ship. Of course, if he had, he might not be floating here with his hand being crushed by the guts of this Empire ship.

But he’d done well. Given hope and chance to those who might otherwise not have had it. He had regrets, of course, but…he was resigned. And as his head grew lighter, he made his peace with the stars, the beautiful vista he so rarely just _looked_ at now.

And then Luke’s voice sounded through the com, the Jedi once more coming to save his ass. Wedge struggled against hope to respond, to speak. Maybe it wasn’t his time, after all...


End file.
